The Ruination of the USS Impala
by Kavery12
Summary: With one insidious secret weapon, Commander Sam Winchester forces the entire crew of the USS Impala to realize that they are not as tough as they'd like to think.


I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

This is number three in an ongoing series of short stories, following _The Tamir Incident _and _Shore Leave_. It's not necessary to read the others first but certain small things would make more sense if read in order.

* * *

><p>The crew members of the USS <em>Impala<em> took great pride in being maverick geniuses, working hard, playing harder and living close to the edge of life aboard their small starship

Part of this package included shit coffee.

Absolutely awful coffee.

The waste oil from the engines looked better than the Starfleet-issue coffee produced by the replicators.

And the crew dealt with it, because they were tough and they were badass and it was what they did. They took a perverse pride in the bad coffee as it sent civilians, other Starfleet officers, diplomats and even admirals running.

Only one lone member continued to rebel.

Commander Sam Winchester, contrary to what his brother believed, did not like low fat, steamed milk cappuccinos with caramel drizzle or other frothy drinks. He just liked a decent cup of coffee with a hint of sugar, especially if he had to get up early in the morning.

Instead, he was stuck dumping creamer, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, hot chocolate, whatever it took into his big mug, hoping beyond hope that it would make the black tar palatable.

And he lived like this for months, even after his brother became captain.

A lone martyr of the cause.

Then there was the first incident with the _Enterprise_. He spent a night in the _Enterprise_'s shiny new infirmary, admiring the big ship and her efficient crew as his brother snored beside him, face a rainbow of bruises.

And when he started to nod off beside his unconscious brother despite having reports to finish, the nice Nurse Chapel brought over a small tray with a plain white china mug, a squat jug of cream and a little pot of sugar.

The heavenly smell of a medium-roast Arabica coffee drifted from the mug. Right then and there, Sam decided Nurse Chapel was a saint.

Real coffee (well, mostly real. Real replicated was an oxymoron, but it at least tasted real).

He savoured the miracle.

He drank three cups before dropping off to sleep in the uncomfortable sick bay chair despite the caffeine overload and a throbbing black eye.

And when he woke up, there was a fresh tray with an entire pot of hot coffee on a little warmer plate.

This time it was a favourite, a beautiful dark Colombian roast that didn't need any sugar at all.

"You're a coffee connoisseur," Dr. McCoy commented gravely from the door of his office, where he watched Sam sip his full mug with reverence.

Sam only managed a blissful hum.

When he set the cup down a minute later, a small chip landed on the bedside table beside him. It was labelled "Colombian dark" in McCoy's oddly neat handwriting. "That's a copy for the dark roast," the doctor volunteered. "Took me six months to track down a chip that would produce it properly. Good coffee keeps me away from the bourbon most days. Figured you had shit coffee on the _Impala_, judging from the way you inhaled that Arabica."

Dr. McCoy was officially Sam's favourite person ever.

He managed a heart-felt thank you before Kirk whirled through sick bay doors and McCoy was off, berating the captain for being out of bed already.

* * *

><p>The first morning back aboard the <em>Impala<em>, Sam immediately created three extra copies of the chip and hid them in very secret, very safe places. Something as valued as the coffee chip would be threatened by his brother and Sam was _not _losing it.

And then he practically skipped down to mess and happily plugged the chip into a chosen replicator. It groaned sullenly but produced the perfect cup of dark life-sustaining liquid.

Clapping a lid to his bridge-mug, Sam made his way to the bridge. Settling in for his shift, he popped the top on his cup and sipped slowly.

The warm smell of fine coffee drifted through the bridge.

All activity stopped and turned to stare at their very content science officer.

When he put the mug down, slipping the top shut, he noticed. "What?"

"What was that?" Dean demanded irritably, alternating glances between his own mug of black swill and Sam's secret substance.

"Coffee."

"What's in it?"

"Coffee."

"Sugar? Peanut butter? Come on man, what's the secret ingredient?"

"Peanut butter? Gross! Dude, you awake yet? No, it's black coffee."

Dean's eyes narrowed as Sam turned back to his work and sipped from the mug again.

Sam was playing dirty, in Dean's opinion.

The game was on.

Ellen was the first person Sam bestowed a cup of fine coffee on. She could keep a secret and she was nice to him (unlike Dean and Ash). Then Castiel had a really awful day and Sam felt bad, so he produced a cup of café mocha for the pilot. Bobby helped Sam with a particularly difficult scientific experiment and was rewarded with a lovely coffee and brandy.

And they couldn't go back to the tar.

They couldn't.

It was blasphemy.

By that point, Dean and Ash were practically eaten alive with curiosity. So when Sam was on-planet with Ellen for a short conference, the command crew of the USS _Impala _staged a black-ops mission – raid Sam's quarters for the fabled coffee chip.

They found it fairly easily in his bedside drawer and scurried down to the closest replicator, plugging it in with alacrity. Whole pots of dark coffee began to circulate, spreading through the ship like a revival movement.

Everyone loved the coffee.

Immediately recognizing that they couldn't just ask Sam for the chip (that would be capitulating), Dean tried to copy it. No dice. Someone had created the maximum number of copies.

Dean tore apart Sam's room looking for the copies while Ash dissected the chip, hoping to discover its secrets.

Dean didn't find the mythological copies.

Ash broke the chip with a quiet curse.

Dean, who had been hovering over the navigator's shoulder, froze. "Do not tell me you just broke Sam's happy juice chip."

Ash laughed nervously and Dean groaned. "We are all going to die. Sam is going to go Terminator on our asses. It's allyour fault."

Ash recoiled quickly, shoving chip pieces towards his superior officer. "Oh hell no, _Captain_. I was just following orders. It's not my fault the chip broke, cuz I didn't instigate this whole mess."

"What chip broke?"

Life on the _Impala_ stopped for a minute as Sam, fresh as a daisy from his interesting bioscience seminar, stuck his head into the mess.

Dean grinned extra wide and slipped a hand over the fragmented coffee chip. "Nothing, just a replicator chip. We were trying to make a chip that would spit out coffee like yours."

Sam raised an eyebrow, in the way that told Dean he saw straight through his transparent older brother. "Oh. I was going to share this afternoon, but since you're busy concocting your own, I'll wait for the results. Then we can compare."

Smiling sweetly, Sam carried on towards his labs and Dean's grin slid to the floor.

"Dude, we are so screwed."

* * *

><p>Things moved on normally as Sam continued to live off the mysterious drink, which told Dean Sam definitely had copies of that damn chip.<p>

Finally after two weeks of tar, Dean couldn't take the distracting smell of good coffee anymore.

"Okay, okay, Sam! You win! What will it cost for you to plant that blasted chip permanently into the ship's system?" Dean almost begged from the captain's chair.

Sam spun around and shrugged. "I'll just put it in. All you had to do was ask."

Astounded silence watched Sam quietly tap a memo regarding the chip into his PADD.

The crew wasn't sure who they were supposed to be more ticked at, the idiot captain or the sadistic first officer.

Either way, from that day forward, the USS _Impala _had quite possibly the best coffee in the entire fleet. Of course, they only served the good stuff to _Impala_ crew members. It got to the point where the _Impala_ crew started turning their noses up at even average coffee.

The tar remained to discourage unwanted intruders – Romulans, Klingons, tribbles, diplomats, politicians and select admirals.

They had to work hard to keep the secret – they had a reputation to maintain and the coffee weakness was a very big flaw in that badass, tough crew image.

Again, the only rebel was Commander Sam Winchester, who loved to taunt especially irritating politicians with a whiff of fine coffee from his bridge-mug after they had choked down their requisite _Impala_ special.


End file.
